


Photograph

by LydianNode



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Language, Reminiscing, Sad Memories, past major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 23:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19239034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydianNode/pseuds/LydianNode
Summary: "Is there ANY way," Roger groaned, "to get out of this conversation alive?"Brian's in Zanzibar, drunk-calling Roger.





	Photograph

He couldn't get the photograph out of his mind. 

Brian tried everything he could think of: talking earnestly to Anita about the next day's itinerary, reading one of the half-dozen books he had brought with him in the likely event of insomnia, even checking the e-mail that his assistants would already have checked for him. 

But Freddie's young, innocent, shy face was seared into his vision. When he lifted his phone to take a picture, it was Freddie he saw. When he pulled out his trusty Realist, he saw Freddie in stereo, so close and so REAL that it felt possible to reach out and pull his friend into his arms and keep him there forever. 

That was the cruelest mirage of all. 

Bless her; Anita was doing everything in her power to lessen Brian's lingering grief. She listened when he told her the well-worn stories of Queen's younger exploits, laughing along with his cherished memories and adding a few of her own. When she ordered two bottles of well-chilled champagne with their room service dinner, she lifted her glass to toast their dear, departed friend. With an actor's grace she turned up her face for a kiss, but the tears in her eyes betrayed that both of them had suffered this terrible loss. Brian clinked their glasses together, stretching his long fingers to brush against hers. _I know it was a hard day for you, too, and I'm sorry.  
_

They had taken full advantage of Kash's guidance, following in Freddie's footsteps to the places he had lived, to the sights he'd seen. His childhood home, covered in placards and photographs, seemed almost too quaint, too small to have held such an enormous soul. Brian posted pictures to his Instagram and almost immediately had to shut the app lest the outpouring from fans sweep him away. 

He wished Roger had been with him. 

He was glad Roger hadn't been with him. 

While Brian wore his pain on his sleeve all these years later, Roger worked hard to deflect from it. He kept his social media lively yet impersonal and always had prepared answers to the questions he was asked over and over again. He stayed away from the stage during "Love of My Life," talking quietly to Adam or Rufus in a corner someplace. But Brian knew that Roger mourned Freddie to the very depths of his soul, saw the tears Roger shed when he thought no one was paying attention. 

Brian chose the best photos from the day and moved them to a folder labeled "Roger." 

When the room service waiter cleared away his dinner and Anita went to have a bath, Brian wandered out onto the patio and took a seat, champagne bottle at the ready. The alcohol slowed his movements but failed to dull the whirling thoughts in his brain. He decided to text Roger the photograph of young Freddie, realising an instant too late that the picture was already in four other outgoing texts from earlier that day. 

Damn. 

Fresh from her bath, Anita appeared on the patio wearing one of Brian's clean t-shirts. She took the champagne flute from Brian's hand, sipped from it, then set it on the side table. "Good night, sweetheart," she whispered. She was scrubbed clean of the day's adventures but a wistful sadness shone in her eyes. 

"Was it too much for you?" Brian asked in a low, comforting tone. 

"A little. But in a good way." She threaded her fingers through his and squeezed. "It's gone two in the morning. Will you be much longer?" 

He looked up at the stars. The moon. Mercury. 

"I'm not sleepy yet. You go on, get some rest." 

Anita frowned, biting her lip. "Don't sit up all night, then." 

"Scout's honour." 

"You weren't a scout!"  
  
Wanting to lighten the mood, Brian reached out and gave Anita's rear a light, teasing pat. "And I don't have much honour, either." 

That made her squeal and giggle. She wagged a finger at him as she went through the doors and left him to his own melancholy blues. 

He knew he didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve anything, anyone, not really. 

That wasn't a useful line of thought. To distract himself, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through the day's photographs, brooding quietly over the beauty of this town and how peaceful it was compared to most of the rest of the world. He wondered how hard it would be to leave London and settle here, maybe build a sort of compound for the kids and grandkids.

But then he'd be colonising and God knew that the British had done too much of that. The mere thought of what the Instagram comments would look like sent spikes of pain through his forehead. 

His thumb moved over the screen and the photo of young Freddie popped up. Brian shivered at the look in those dark eyes, so yearning, so fragile. How could Bomi Bulsara have done such a cruel thing, sending that precious little boy halfway across the planet for years on end? How could he bear to be separated from such a sweet soul? How could he have kept him there, knowing...? 

No. He couldn't go there. It was too dark, too horrible, a place that Freddie had locked away in a dark recess and thrown away the key. 

Brian poured another glass of champagne and flicked through the pictures again. And again. And again, draining the champagne to the dregs. His fingers didn't want to move anymore but his mind kept sending electrical flutters that kept his eyes open and made him want to talk. And talk and talk. 

He peeked around the corner and saw Anita in bed, covers pulled up over her shoulder, her face relaxed and young in sleep. No, it wouldn't do to wake her. 

He thought about calling his children, telling them how much he adored them, how much they meant to him. But they had children of their own, little ones who didn't need to have the phone go off at midnight to disturb their innocent dreams. 

With a heavy sigh, he closed the photo app and looked at his texts. 

Roger. 

Yes, Roger would be perfect. He was the only other person in the world who knew what he was feeling. Well, the only other person who was still speaking to him other than via terse, tense e-mails. 

Brian touched the screen and waited for the call to be picked up. It took a dozen rings before Roger's voice, high and rough with annoyed sleepiness, crackled in his ear. "What the actual fucking FUCK are you doing?" 

"Sitting on the patio, looking at the photos from today. I'm thinking about Freddie." He tried to muffle the little whimper but it came out in a sort of hiccup. 

He heard a rustling on the other end, then the sound of bare feet padding across a floor and a door closing with a quiet _snick._ "Are you drunk?" 

"Somewhat." 

"Christ. Okay, I've moved to the sitting room so I don't bother Sarina. To what do I owe the pleasure of plastered, maudlin Brian calling me at two in the morning?" 

"It's two HERE. It's midnight where you are."  
  
"It's four where you are. Check your phone. How long have you been sitting there, attempting to drown your dusty, sad thoughts?" 

Brian checked the phone, huffing in surprise that two hours had passed since Anita had bid him good night. "Oh. Sorry. I'll let you go—" 

"No, no, you've got me up so you might as well have at it." 

Brian licked the rim of the glass, hoping for one last drop of liquid courage. "We've been in Stone Town, looking at places Freddie lived and went to school." 

"I know that," Roger said, sounding weary. "I do follow you on Instagram, though God knows WHY since you send me the same photos in texts twenty-seven times." 

"Five."  
  
"Whatever." His tone softened; Brian could almost see him running a hand through his hair as he leaned back on his favourite sofa. "So, how was it?" 

"It was extraordinary. I can't believe we didn't do this once we had the money; the things Freddie could've shown us, Rog, we missed out on that! We'd have understood better, and maybe things would've turned out differently." 

"Oh, Brian. Freddie hid all that shit away, didn't want to deal with it in his own head much less have to talk about it. He wouldn't have wanted to put us through that. Can you imagine? 'And right here's where my Dad told me he was sending me away...'" He paused. "Look, you're drunk and you're emotional, and there's no point going over exactly how shitty Freddie's childhood was." 

Insistent, stubborn, Brian talked over him. "But a trip with the three of us along could've helped exorcise that, don't you see?" 

"If you say so." Roger's indulgence always held a hint of an eye-roll which Brian chose to ignore. 

"Or, look, they should've shown this in the movie. Rami needed to know about...I should call him..." 

"Brian, stop." There was no hint of indulgence anymore, just exasperation tinged with sorrow. "You can't change the past. And the boys have gone on to other things now...this is THEIR past, too."

Brian took a moment to mull this over, then he opened his eyes wide as a new idea flashed through his mind. "I know! You and I should come here, and bring Deacy with us!"  
  
"JOHN?" 

"It might help him—" 

"Brian, are you HIGH?" Roger's voice rose in pitch and volume the way it always did when he was about to come completely unglued. "John won't even go down the local; he's not flying to bloody Zanaibar and he sure as FUCK won't do it if you and I are anywhere on the continent!" 

No, no, Roger was wrong and Brian needed to make him see reason. "But John LOVED Freddie, that's why he's like this!" 

"We all loved him. I loved him so fucking much." There was a little hitch in Roger's voice. "He was my best friend." 

Pain twisted between Brian's ribs, almost choking him. He was making Roger cry; he was a horrible, horrible friend. Words spilled out of him unfiltered. "I'm sorry. I know I can't replace him; I'm not good enough."

"Is there ANY way," Roger groaned, "to get out of this conversation alive?" 

The choking turned to sobs, huge, heaving gasps that left him without enough air to speak. Tears rolled down his face and splashed onto the tabletop. He wept for his lost friend, for the lost years, for the lost opportunities, and once the flood began he couldn't make it stop. 

As gently as Brian had ever heard, Roger murmured, "Ah, don't cry. Tell you what, why don't you put Anita on for a few minutes while you catch your breath?" 

Brian cleared some of the muck out of his throat, managing only two words: "She's asleep."

"So was I, but that didn't stop you," Roger chided but without any real irritation. "C'mon, Bri, we're gonna spend the rest of our lives arguing and I wouldn't have it any other way. Take a deep breath, mate, you're okay." 

Such a soft heart beat under all that protective armor. Brian sniffed, glad that Roger couldn't see him wipe his nose with his sleeve. "Sorry to be such a bother," he half-coughed. 

Roger was silent for several seconds, and when he finally spoke there was pain in his voice. "For twenty years or so, Freddie and I had some variation on this talk at least once a week: 'I'm such a bother.' 'No, now fuck off.' I thought that when he died, that'd be the end of it, but this—THIS is how he haunts me!" Roger's chuckle had an edge of tears to it. "He's haunting me through you! You're a fucking MEDIUM, Brian!" 

The idea amused Brian, made him laugh for the first time in hours. "So tell me, where's my crystal ball?" 

"I don't give a shit where your balls are. For God's sake, crawl into bed and get some sleep before you end up drunk-dialing John. Not that he'd answer, mind." 

"Does it bother you?" Brian asked, suddenly feeling the cold dawn of sobriety. "That he won't talk to us?" 

"Nah. He's a tosser." 

"Roger." 

The silence on the other end was electric. "Yeah," Roger breathed. "When I let myself think about it. I didn't think we'd lose both of them, you know?" 

"I know." Brian thought about the photograph, about Freddie's sweet, trusting face with its bitten lip. "It would've broken his heart." 

"It would." Roger let out a sigh. "Listen, Bri, I'm falling asleep on my feet and you need to get to bed before Anita blames me for your nasty mood. We'll talk more when you get home, before we start rehearsing. Just the two of us, okay?" 

"Yeah. I'd like that. Sorry I woke you." 

"It's okay. Call me when you get back in town. During, you know, the DAYTIME." 

Brian winced at the underlying message but had to smile at how easily Roger always managed to make him feel wanted. "Got it. G'night, Rog." 

"Good morning, Bri." 

It very nearly was morning, a faint glow beginning to warm the place where water met sky. Brian looked up to see the stars, so steady in their courses, always there for him even when daylight obscured them from view. He fancied that Freddie was out there as well, just beyond the stars, dark eyes shimmering with mischief and love. 

The thought made him smile even as a few more tears fell. It was an old man's passing notion, he knew, but it gave him comfort nonetheless. He picked up the champagne bottle, surprised that there was still a glassful left when he'd been so certain that it was empty. Of course he tipped the last of it into his glass, and of course he raised it to the sky. _To you, old friend.  
_

It was just enough to relax him, to wash away the last of his sorrowful thoughts. He left everything on the table and went back into the bedroom, leaving the door open so that the sound and scent of the ocean could lull him to sleep. Quietly, so as not to disturb Anita, he undressed and slipped between the cool sheets, then leaned toward the nightstand and set down his phone. The movement was enough to bring the screen to life, showing him Freddie's youthful face once more. Brian rolled over toward the nightstand, gazing at the visage of his long-lost friend. 

_I understand, now. Good night, Freddie. Sleep well.  
_

He felt the answering caress of a Zanzibar breeze on his cheek as he fell into a sweet dream of better times.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title refers to two similar songs by dissimilar composers: "What'll I Do?" by Irving Berlin and "Photograph" by George Harrison and Ringo Starr.
> 
> As always, many thanks to @royaltyisshe64 for the suggestion and the long hours of hand-holding.


End file.
